Adopting A Stance

It just gets better!
The Catholic Church has had a hissy fit.
Now, they say that they are going to have to close all the adoption agencies.
There is NO WAY they are letting Queers adopt children that no one else wants.
Cormac Murphy- O’Connor, the head of the Catholic Church in England has SUCH a good record on matters involving children.
While he was a Bishop, he knew of paedophile priests in his diocese, but just moved them on. One of them he moved to the Chapel at Gatwick Airport. He was later to serve nearly four years for nine sex attacks on boys, one of whom he abused at Gatwick.
What a Prince Of The Church he is.
This all said, it comes down to the idea, that the church are perpetuating, that ALL homosexuals are paedophiles.
Ok then, from now on I will assume that every Priest wants to fuck young boys and all Nuns want to beat seven shades of shit out of you.
Fair enough?
Cormac, why don’t you ask your opposite number in Boston about paedophile abuse?
How much did the Church have to pay out because of those fucking noncing priests?
$85 Million, I think you’ll find. Just in Boston.
Not that they can’t afford it.
The adoption agencies themselves aren’t exactly bathed in glory either.
The Duplessis Orphans in Canada?
Some of those kids were ‘sold’ for medical experiments for fuck’s sake!
With the knowledge of the Catholic run orphanages they lived in.
So, go on, close them down.
Cut your nose off to spite your face.
Wankers.

Other stuff getting on my tits.

Why do people feel the need to ‘chew’ plain yoghurt?
Stand there, right in front of you with the pot and the spoon fucking chewing!
Some people do it when they drink milk.
Watch them.
Turns my stomach.
I just start imagining what would happen if I bit down in to something ‘clot’ like.
The only time you need to chew milk is if there are cereals in it.
Also pissing me off, are the people who use all the utensils and attachments that come with their vacuum cleaner. What’s that all about?
Fuck off!
I didn’t know ours had all that shit ‘til I dropped it down the stairs. It came apart in slow motion and revealed the treasure hidden within!
I am SO glad I can say I don’t have a clue what each one is used for.

Feck, Salvage And Opus Pocus

Today I have been amused by a couple of things and pissed off by one.
First, the news that two Irish islands are fighting about which one should host the first Father Ted festival.
They are the Aran Islands of Inis Mor and Inis Oirr.
It’s just whinging and bitching at the moment, but I’m waiting for it to kick off!
I hope they solve it in a typically Father Ted way. Have a jumper ‘knit off’ or something.
Battle of the Cable Stitch.

The other one is a total ‘Whiskey Galore’ moment some people are enjoying on the beach in Branscombe, Devon.
Hundreds of containers have been swept off the beached MSC Napoli.
The lunch time news showed people wheeling BMW motorbikes away, rolling massive oak wine barrels up the beach.
For some it was a family affair, kids running about collecting shoes and trainers while the parents picked up car parts and huge packets of nappies.
All the roads in to the town have been closed, but it hasn’t stopped people walking down and taking the risk that they grab hold of something smothered in sulphuric acid.
What do they expect?
Smuggling and luring ships on to rocks to be wrecked has been a West Country pastime for 800yrs!
I had to read Moonfleet by J Meade Falkner when I was at school, bored the tits off me!

I see the ‘stunning’ Ruth Kelly is in the news again.
Actually, I should start that, devout Catholic and Opus Dei member, Ruth Kelly is in the news again.
As Communities Secretary, whatever the fuck THAT is, she is trying to mess with the Equality Act that was passed last year.
The Act bans,
‘discrimination in the provision of goods, facilities and services on the basis of sexual orientation’.
Ruth Kelly is trying to get Catholic adoption agencies exempt from having to follow this.
Tony Blair is backing her on this, he also worships with the Church of Rome.
No fucking connection there then.
Curious.
How much more blatant does this fucking government have to get?

Smokin'

The Harvard School of Public Health studied Nicotine levels in cigarettes from 1997 to 2005.
Surprise, surprise it has increased by 11%.
Keeping in mind governments get huge revenue from smokes.
Some researcher type called Howard Koh said this,

“Cigarettes are finely tuned drug delivery devices, designed to perpetrate a tobacco pandemic.”

I’ve never heard a fag summed up so succinctly or so well.
They haven’t come out directly and said,
‘Oi, you are fucking with the nicotine to make ‘em more addicted‘, that would be way too costly in terms of litigation.
So, in Britain, we have huge public ‘give up smoking’ drives. Ask your doctor, ask your pharmacist, buy a patch type advertising because smokers are a burden on the NHS.
It’s US smokers and our taxed fags that are paying for the National Health Service!
Services that the fucking body Nazis are always using, with their pulled muscles, arthritic knees and Jogger’s Nipple from the fucking healthy run they just did.
You know the people I’m talking about. They are always going for physiotherapy on work time. An appointment that has been 4 months in the coming. It’s always MONTHS!
Ask them about their injury and it’s always some Radial, Medial, Testicostical type of strain, that only comes at a certain (high) level of fitness.
Governments CAN’T afford to lose the smokers.
Smoker’s rarely turn up at their doctor’s complaining of a chest infection or a cough.
We don’t go because we KNOW it’s a self inflicted thing, we’re not fucking stupid.
We don’t want some smug wanker, with patches on his elbows, tutting and telling us we ought to give up.
We fucking know that! Fuck off.
When smokers give up they are always at the doctor, whining.

.. DOC.. What’s the trouble?
..ExSmoker.. I have a hideous cough, I’m really wheezy and it burns when I breathe.
..DOC.. Do you smoke?
..ExSmoker.. Ha! Ha! NO!
NO, I fucking don’t!
Now you have got to treat me without any of the holier than thou shit!
Actually, give a toss. Ha! Ha!
Bring on the real drugs Dr Crippen.
None of that over the counter shite I used to muddle through with. No more Over The Counter crap, Robutussin and the stuff with the aroma of creosote.
(Smells nice. Tastes dreadful. Might even be the national drink of Hungary! Or is that Unicum? Either way, both were hideous and I never refuse a ‘National’ drink, or cough medication if I‘m honest!)
I want antibiotics.
Antibiotics that turn me in to a smorgasbord for MRSA and all that other ‘resistant’ nastiness.
Thank you very much.
I DON'T SMOKE!

All those symptoms a regular smoker would just get on with.

See my point?
The NHS can't afford for the smokers to give up!

Out And About On Friday

This morning I had to fill in a job application form.
Yep, got to get off my arse and do something.
My ‘retirement’ is wreaking havoc with my health and bank balance. Fucking interest rate thingy bastards!
I only got the form yesterday so it was a bit of a rush job. I hadn’t had enough tea or fags to think about being eloquent so I went with Brutally Honest as an eye-catching approach.

“Reason for leaving last job?” I put,
Artistic Differences. They went for Performing Arts status, I was indifferent.
“How many days off in the last year?” I went with,
Ask the Head at Mayhem, he’ll tell you I was never there.
“Reason why you would be good in this position?” I wrote,
I have a thick skin and a good sense of humour.
I’m not offended by the word “Fuck” in all it’s various uses.
I can think on my feet and adapt quickly, flying chairs, books and pens have honed these skills.
Personal remarks, threats of violence, constant nit picking and being ignored no longer bother me.
I’m pretty good with ‘challenging’ kids too.
Also, I could do the job stood on my head.

I then had an, “Oh Fuck it! What’s the point moment” and wasn’t going to bother handing it in.
Sassy kindly talked me down!

As I entered the school’s front door I was greeted by the receptionist shouting,
“…. because you NEED a note” at some bewildered boy.
Sadly, I thought,
‘Yep. This is what I do..’

Delivering the form caused me to walk up a street I’m usually driven up.
So I paid more attention than usual.
It’s totally different to Albert Road.
There are no restaurants but loads of Take Aways.
Shops that sell products for Afro-Caribbean hair. Wigs and weaves hang in the window.
Places selling second hand furniture and if you are getting any of that ‘Second’ I’d be fucking amazed!
Large, predominantly bald, men stand outside these shops. Looking weather beaten, usually leaning on a fridge, smoking.
You can buy Halal meat, all things Chinese, cheap booze and get keys cut.
There are shops that sell Rizla on a roll, you can get tattooed, have your nails painted and your nipples pierced.
Or vice versa.

It was during this walk I came to the conclusion that my health is suffering.
I got fucking Shin Splints!
A searing pain in the muscle down the front of the shins that makes your feet flop around like you’re breaking them in for someone else.
It also gives you the gait of a Thunderbird puppet.
I fell in behind some old dear with a trolley and tried to look as if she had me trapped there.
The ipod, which had tried to fuck with me earlier by refusing to work, was blaring Primal Scream’s Country Girls directly in to my head and I started to enjoy my day.
I contemplated getting my hair cut and set about choosing a criterion.
I went with looking through the window, seeing who was free and deciding whether I wanted them running their fingers through my hair.
I still have huge hair and possibly, a couple of police complaints!
I bumped in to a one night stand who, scarily, remembered every detail about me.
I had no recollection of her whatsoever, or we would never have been in a 'bumping in to' situation, but I think I fronted it out pretty well.

BB POV

Today I have seen a dustbin lid fly down the middle of the street at head height. The aerial ripped off the roof of the house across the road.
Horizontal rain.
People have been killed and injured. The wind got up to 90mph and there were 25ft waves along the seafront.
Crisp packet and leaf tornadoes in my forecourt and clouds moving so fast they made me feel a bit sick. I haven’t seen a single bird and there are usually loads of Magpie’s tormenting Murphy the Murderous Feline. He likes to sit in the window and chunter at them.
According to the news, windows were blown out on the pier and Southsea Common is flooded.
The hosepipe ban has been lifted though.

Right, the Big Brother thing.
I’ve read as much as I can from lots of sources and this is what I make of it.
Yep, there is racist bullying going on.
Why are we surprised at that? You put white, working class wannabe bitches in a house with an educated upper class Indian and expect it to work out?
They cannot ‘compete’ with her on any other level.
She’s gorgeous, speaks 5 or 6 languages and is an absolute star in her world.
Their innate ‘colonialism’ was bound to surface.
I think what people are finding more shocking, is the fact that they thought nothing of it, until it was pointed out to them.
People, who in a million years, would never consider themselves racist.
If you doubt it.
Check out the number of complaints made by the public the 2 days before and the day after the news broke the story.
A lot of people didn’t KNOW to be outraged before they were TOLD to be.
Check out what Ken Russell called Miss Goody and her family.
I think he used the word ‘Guttersnipe’.
Brilliant word! My Nan used it!
Jeremy Paxman was quick to say that not all British ‘white’ people were racist.
Ok. Thanks for that.
In the same way that not all Muslims are terrorists then?
Many of the stories felt the need to point out that Miss Shetty was a Hindu.
Would it make a difference if she wasn’t? Would we mind a little bit less if she was Muslim?

Let’s also not forget why these people are in the Big Brother house in the first place.
I, in all honesty, had never heard of Shilpa Shetty before all this started, Bollywood films are not my thing.
You can guarantee we’ll be hearing loads about her from now on. Anyone fancy a bet on how long it is before we see her in a “Hollywood” film?
Viewer numbers were dropping off. They are up to 5 million again.
Although, Carphone Warehouse has pulled it’s sponsorship.
My inner conspiracy theorist has come up with the idea of 2 Big Brother execs playing a sort of ‘Trading Places’ game with Jade Goody.
A ‘we make her in one series and ruin her in another’ scenario.
If so, one of them has just won a huge bet!

All Is Sweet

We are into that dreaded time of year when only the really crappy sweets are left in the Quality Street tin.
Sweeties that you only contemplate when you have got the munchies, bad!
I wasted 15 minutes of my life this afternoon deciding whether to suck the chocolate and caramel from the ‘Purple one’ and gob away the nut.
Or go against all my beliefs and accept that orange is an acceptable flavour for chocolate.
I went with the spitting nuts option. (not a line you’re likely to hear me say again!)
Orange and chocolate together is just too wrong.
Terry can keep his ‘chocolate orange’, it’s fucking filth.
Who else won't throw away the QS tin, 'just in case'? Just in case of what, Christ alone knows!

We have had an impromptu dinner party tonight.
Sassy came round for a quick drink and it just grew.
I cooked pasta, then all of a sudden we were partying.
Basically, I'm as pissed as a fart!
We have discussed the idea of an ’Ancestral Memory’.
Which I believe, is what happens in all families, when you have heard the same story over and over again you actually believe it happened to you.
That’s how elephants can find water holes their great grandparents used…
They had heard the stories so often they thought they were fucking there!

As usual, adverts are catching my eye.
This time it’s hair dye adverts.
Some American actress is going on about how wonderful this particular dye is.
Flicking her hair about in slow motion and looking very ‘chestnutty’.
In her ‘Deep South’ accent she tells us it even does,
‘wiry, little ones’.
She has shoulder length hair, so One can only wonder what short, wiry hairs she is referring to.
Are the advertising companies, subliminally, trying to put the ‘Merkin’ people out of business?!

Now for a Housemate rant.
Waiting for weeks and weeks, then stuffing all your laundry in at once, doesn’t work. I’m not even sure the centre gets wet.
For some reason the spin of the machine has the strength of an industrial centrifuge.
This means your 6kgs of laundry are in such a tight ball and wedged in so tight, it’s like trying to undo the Gordian Knot.
Next time I WILL get my sword.
Are we clear?

I will dip into the Big Brother racism debate, but tomorrow, I have had too much Brandy tonight.
Getting in touch with my inner toper! Frankly, I quite like her.

Smack 'eads, No 'eads and Knob 'eads

Why do they sit down on the BBC evening news but stand up on the lunchtime one?
The other thing that pisses me off is when they say something like,
‘the time is fast approaching 16 minutes past 6’.
How fast exactly?
A second at a time I should think.
Fucking fool.

One of the items was about the massive rise in hard drug use amongst the British Asian community.

Just go with me for a bit here.
Afghani opium growers were promised money by the British government to STOP growing poppies.
Promised amid fears that:

1.. Money was funding terrorism.
2.. Keeping drugs off British streets.

So, Britain gets them to plant coffee or coriander or something, and doesn’t honour the promise to pay them.
The growers suffer financial hardship and think, “Fuck It” and plant poppies again.
Some of the drugs made from these crops end up in Britain, up the noses or in the arms of British Asians, some of whom are Muslim.
A few of the families send their drug addicted kids off to Islamic ‘schools’ for a cure.
Here they become politicised and come home angry enough to strap bombs to themselves.
Am I alone in seeing the irony here?

There wasn’t a mention of the decapitation of Saddam’s half brother.
One quick mention yesterday with a,
'Oh, by the way. He was decapitated', almost coughed behind a hand.
We had days and days of Saddam’s execution and his went relatively well.
This fucker’s head came off! Came off!
They should have watched Pierrepoint.
According to him, decapitation occurs when the drop is too big for a heavy person.
I seem to remember he looked like a bit of a salad dodger.

The fine people of Pompey have done themselves proud again.
A house in Havant (read, Leigh Park) has been targeted for vandalism and violence. Windows smashed and inhabitants attacked.
The reason?
A rumour got around that paedophiles live there.
In fact, it is an assisted living home for adults with learning difficulties.
Fucking idiots.

There was me thinking the whole of Leigh Park was assisted living housing for the inbred knuckle draggers who were moved out from the slums of Portsea.
Don’t start ‘tutting’! You know it’s true.
Look what happened in Paulsgrove where they put the rest of them (mixing up the limited gene pool).
They burnt down a Paediatrician’s office and not one of their placards had ‘Paedophile’ spelled correctly!
As I have often said, 150 000 people, 5 surnames.

Yesterday I read ‘The Black Sun’ by James Twining. It’s a kind of Da Vinci Code with Nazis and looted treasures.
Today I started ‘The Book Of Fathers’ by Miklos Vamos. I’m only a few chapters in but I can tell it’s going to be a cracker.
Schnee, this is definitely one for you.

Rhyme and Punishment

Well! Who knew?!
How dangerous going for a curry could be.
We all know the dangers of ordering while pissed, when you are convinced that 32 poppadoms between 6 and the hottest thing on the menu are a splendid idea.
Oblivious to the following morning’s Johnny Cash moment. When you don’t fall in the burning ring of fire……
You are in full possession of one.
But, it’s not that.
Bombs can be made from chapatti flour and peroxide used by hairdressers!
BBC News informs me that this is what the alleged, failed suicide bombers used.

(Failed suicide Bomber??? “Yeah I was going to do it, had the bomb, rucksack, train ticket, the lot!.... But wouldn’t you know it, halfway there and the fucking Prozac kicked in”…

The reason they didn’t go off? Too much flour!
There you go, you can all stop worrying about ‘those Muslims who run the Take Away’.
They wouldn’t fuck up the flour!
Asian hairdressers must be shitting themselves waiting for Scotland Yard to come piling through their doors!
Just remember:

“First they came for the hairdressers, I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a hairdresser.
Then they came for the Take Away owners, I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Take Away owner.
Then they came for me, but I had fucking starved to death with a 6ft afro”

Sleepy Niemoller. (Feel free to imagine umlauts!)

I have been to Marlborough today. There is a fantastic bookshop there.
The owner is one of those great upper class Englishmen who are superior, rude and helpful all at the same time!
Sassy, he would appeal to your inner Parisienne.
I like him because he is no nonsense.
Usually there is something about books on shelves that makes people feel they ought to be quiet and library-like. Same with big shops that have book sections, that’s the quietest area.
Not this guy. The whole shop could hear him being rude to his bank.
“Who are you? Come on, come on, Lloyds or Barclays?”
“Why are you phoning me?”
“What? What? You want me to do what?”
“No. NO. I can’t talk to you now!”
Down went the phone, with real venom.
All the people in the shop became really involved in the book in front of them.
I wanted to applaud.
He couldn’t have given a toss.

I saw the front page of The Mirror today and can’t work out whether to be pissed off or laugh like a drain.
Roy Whiting, murderer of 8 year old Sarah Payne, is complaining that his cell is haunted by Harold Shipman!
The poor bugger is ‘scared witless’.
Really? What, More than Sarah Payne was?..
Fuck him. Leave him in there.
In fact, send in Derek Accorah and John Edward.
One can tell him where the dead are hanging about and the other can tell him what they are saying.
Creepy.

Green Eyed Monster

As many of you know, Sunday is when I worship at the Church of Sky Sports 1.
Revering one of my gods, known as football.
As you can imagine everybody has an opinion about David Beckham.
So, from the sofa in my Sunday best, (dressing gown and slippers), here is the homily.

David Beckham didn’t wake up one morning suddenly able to do what he does.
He practised for hours and hours on end.
During those teenage years when the majority were out smoking, drinking cider, doing drugs and earning ASBO points.
He was practising.
He was living 200 miles away from home and family, living football and practising.
Eventually, because of practise, he got to play for one of the greatest clubs and his country.
He acquired a ‘high maintenance’ wife.
Week in and week out he had thousands chanting obscenities at him about her. Imagine going to work and all you get is people abusing someone you love.
After the World Cup sending off incident, effigies of him were burnt. He received mail hoping his child would die of cancer.
Think of the injuries he’s had. The strain any sport puts on joints. Next time you see a free kick of his, look at his standing leg.
I have terrible joint problems because of the sport I played when I was younger and I wasn’t at his level or played for as long.
As he gets older he is going to have pain and as his looks go so will his earning potential.

We have all been told that hard work and sacrifice will bring a reward. That’s what he’s done.
Fucking fair play to him. Grab the money and run.
Think back to the public outcry there was when one of the “Heroes of ‘66” was going to auction his winner’s medal. Why was he selling it? Because he had fuck all, except medical bills.
Think about it the next time the lottery is up to 25 million and you are buying a ticket.
You wouldn’t be buying that ticket if you had got off your fucking arse and made yourself world class in whatever your talent is.

Would it be too difficult to see it for what it actually is?
WE ARE FUCKING JEALOUS and we are collectively bullying him. The disease of clawing down anybody who has made good just because it wasn’t us.

Here endeth the lesson.

Has anyone else seen the advert for Dettol Kitchen Spray?
It makes all sorts of claims about killing Bacteria but also claims to kill MRSA.
Has no one thought to let the NHS in on this secret?
If it’s expensive I’m sure a deal can be done with Lidl.
I’d love to see them get a Royal Charter or whatever they are called.

“Lidl, purveyors of fine food with labels no one can read, to HRH the Duchess of Cornwall”.

How cool would that be?

Barnet Fair

Come on guys!!! This just ain't right..

Chants, The Clap And Knickers

A tune came on the radio as I was escaping Portsmouth for my Wiltshire hideaway. I urge you all to listen to it. Listen to it LOUD, you will smile and bop.
T-Rex…. Hot Love (The repeat to fade version)
I was immediately whipped back to a time in my life that is now called ‘pre-teen’, I call it ‘happy’.
Back to a time when being cool in the playground didn’t involve smoking, ‘looking’ the part, swearing and snogging.
You did other stuff.
I played football, Bulldog and Kinger but I wasn’t like the other girls!

There were the girls who wrapped the belt from their coat around a friend’s waist, then “Rode” them round the playground like a horse. Making strange clicking sounds and shouting, ‘Walk On’. Pigtails were acceptable reins during the summer.

There was the group that would produce a huge circle of knicker elastic or elastic bands joined together. Two girls looped this around their ankles and moved 6ft apart. Other girls would then jump on the stretched elastic in a certain order chanting,
‘….. inside, outside, twizzles’ off’.
Whatever the fuck that might mean!
I have an idea for it now, but it’s probably best kept to myself!.
After each turn the elastic was moved higher, Calf, knee etc.
Only got interesting to watch then.

Then there was the ‘angry’ lot. They had a tennis ball in a long sock or leg of an old pair of tights.
They would stand against a wall and fling this thing about like a medieval flagellant, chanting the weirdest shit.
“Nebuchnezzar, King of The Jews, bought his wife a pair of shoes…”
They didn’t sound happy about the shoes.
Get in the way and they’d have your fucking head off.
Having seen the effect of bad shoes on hectic Jewish women, I stayed the fuck away from this lot. I did also think they may have been the “Cossacks” my Great Grandmother used to shout about.

There were the freakish bunch who did a handclapping thing. Clapping hands against each other in a particular order ALSO chanting!
These chants had more to do with ‘Sailors going to sea, to see what they could see….’, than pissed off women in ill-fitting shoes.
Other girls would gather round and take it in turns to try and do it faster. This activity could also be done with another girl plaiting the “Clapee’s” hair. All most strange. The orderly handclapping made me think of my Grandmother and her shouting about Nazis.
I kept away from them.

Last and by no means least.
The girls who did handstands up against the wall!
For some reason it was always the girls with the grubbiest or brightest knickers on.
This is the time in my life when I learned to read the days of the week upside down.
Noticed I was the only girl watching with the boys and found out that some girls wore the same shreddies two days on the trot.
Nobody had warned me against this type of girl!
I made a mental note of them in case of ‘Wet PE’. There was always a mad dash for “Scottish Country Dance” partners and I did not want to be stuck in close proximity to a skanky one.

My hair is now so huge I’m picking up the police frequency, or the voices are back.
Either way, I’m going with it.

Nicotine And Rain

Not wishing to sound stereotypically British but the weather is horrendous.
Roofs have been blown off, trees uprooted, power lines are down. Flood warnings are in effect in many places but you can guarantee a hose pipe ban in a few months time.
The wind has taken next door’s back gate straight off its hinges and Mrs Next Door has a face like a slapped arse. She has been bitching at Mr Next Door to get it sorted for some time. (Our walls aren’t thin but she is shrill!)
I lasted as long as I could but my body’s relentless call for nicotine drove me out of the house and into the maelstrom.
I made the ‘skinning up Oregano’ mistake in 1985 and I won’t be doing that again.
The rain was horizontal and the wind so strong I had no choice but to jog. Well, on the way there, anyway.
Coming back against the wind, I think I must have looked like a mime artist pulling myself along on an invisible rope.
When I got in, I had to go through that whole wrestling thing that happens when you try and take off wet jeans. To be confronted with legs the colour of corned beef, the shitty stuff in cans not the proper stuff. Twenty minutes later the sky was blue, the rain had stopped and the ‘hurricane’ had dropped to a gentle breeze. It stayed like that for 10 minutes, the time it takes me to get to the shop and back.
I’m sure I heard G-d chuckling.
Bastard!..

Another advert is getting on my tits. Just for a change!
A little oriental boy sat on the toilet has a total tantrum because a white contraption on the wall isn’t working. His Mum is outside asking what is wrong, all of a sudden he has a pen and writing material (Most unhygienic). He ‘draws’ that the air freshener has run out.
So, basically what they are saying is, “shit stinks“.
No, really?
And air freshener takes the smell away. Well, thank fuck they told me that. I would never have got that one on my own!

Follicles and Molluscs

I’m going mental.
I am in desperate need of a serious haircut. The trouble is, it ain’t that easy!
I have complicated hair. Two crowns and a couple of cow licks. It all grows different ways, mainly out!
I have had hairdressers just suddenly stop half way through the cut and tell me they can’t do it.
I have had one, while using clippers, suddenly say, ‘Ooops’ and step away from me.
I was out of the chair and had her pinned to the wall by the throat, screaming, “Fucking Oooops”, all in the blink of an eye.
Suffice it to say, there are a few establishments where I am no longer welcome.
There was an afternoon when Crisp-e and I did some mushrooms and decided to attack my mop with his clippers! Not an ideal plan and we had to get Yusef the Barber to sort it out! Wasn’t too bad but I did look like a young Arab boy for a week.
All this aside, I NEED a haircut, there are bits going curly for fuck’s sake. I can’t live with that kind of shit going on with my Barnet!

I’m going to have to be careful here, after my Steve Urwin experience, but Ray Mears is getting on my tits.
He has a new programme where he bimbles around Britain doing his ‘hunter gatherer’ bit showing us how our Mesolithic ancestors survived. Eating some of the nastiest looking shit you’ve ever seen. Smacking his lips and saying how wonderful it all is.
Is it buggery.
It’s all stuff you tell kids to stay away from because dogs and tramps have pissed on it.
I do love the idea of being able to mooch around the countryside and know exactly what I could and couldn’t eat. But his delivery and attitude about it is so smug and superior it puts my back up. Makes me want to poke him straight in the eye with one of his ‘tasty’ Razor Clams. The one he has cooked on a hot stone heated by the fire he made from rubbing fucking slow-worms together or something. You’d think a man who dresses straight from Millets would have heard of a camping stove or a Trangia.
I better not bump in to him in Waitrose because I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from having a rant if he didn’t have seaweed, snails, slugs and algae in his basket. (All stuff I’m sure Waitrose would have!)

There Was A Young Man.....

I spent most of yesterday watching football, one of my favourite activities!
One of the least attractive aspects of the game takes place during substitutions. While stood on the touchline the sub adjusts his shorts and does this bollock juggling thing.
How this helps their game I’m unsure, but I really don’t like to see it.
So I propose a solution.
The player going off has to arrange the testicles of the one coming on.
I think that will put an end to the practise pretty swiftly.

All we have heard about today is about Ruth Kelly.
Ex Minister for education, face like a Russian war memorial and the sartorial elegance of an unmade bed.
She is taking one of her kids out of a state school and sending him to a 15 grand a year private one.
Apparently he has Special Educational Needs. So, this morning I was sat watching the news wondering what these needs could be. Autism, Down’s syndrome, wheelchair etc. All conditions Schnee and I have encountered at Mayhem.
This boy’s ‘Severe’ learning difficulty? Yep, by lunchtime’s news it was severe, is Dyslexia. Dyslexia! Jaysus..
A pair of coloured ‘specs and he’s good to go.
I can’t see the problem with him staying in mainstream in a class of 35+ each with their own ‘Special Needs’.
With kids throwing chairs, fighting, climbing out of windows, telling staff to Fuck Off, making and receiving phone calls, ripping up books, setting fire to ANYTHING (I’ve seen them try and burn a fire extinguisher!), girls doing their hair and make up, boys sorting out their Fantasy Football teams, walking out when they feel like it. With one Learning Support Assistant for all of them.
Just like everybody else’s “Special” children.
Then, to really piss me off we were told that Mrs Kelly would be paying for this out of her own money.
FUCKING RIGHT SHE WILL!

This afternoon I have been to Devizes, which I’m sure is a lovely place, but I just couldn’t get the, “There was a young man from Devizes….” thing out of my head. I’m sure everybody who saw me thought I was a ‘Care In The Community’ case. Dodgy grin and sporadic chuckling!

Burn In Hell

I'm confused. Not an unusual state of affairs for me!
Why, all of a sudden is it wrong that Saddam has been hanged?
'Deplorable', Gordon Brown called it. No world leader seemed to be lining up at the time in his defense. Then the execution HAD to be shown to stop the conspiracy theories.
Now it's an abomination. These people want to make up their fucking minds.
They weren't that squeamish while they were bombing Baghdad, knowing full well that Saddam had done a runner and the army was more or less non existent.

I don't remember anyone being outraged when the mutilated bodies of his sons, Uday and Qusay were plastered over the front pages of papers around the world.
Everybody has seen the Zapruda film where you can see President Kennedy's head come apart. Who complained about that?
I watched the YouTube footage, a few times, he is there on the trapdoor - then he isn't. You don't see him dangling or jerking on the end of the rope. In all honesty, it wouldn't have bothered me if I did.
So, what I can work out is 'they' didn't like people shouting "Go to Hell" at him.
Fuck off.

In America when a murderer is executed, people are invited to witness it. Members of the victim's family can be there.
Do you think they are sat there thinking to themselves,
"Aaah, poor bugger, I hope he goes straight to heaven".
Or are they cheering and thinking,
'Go to Hell, you fucking scum!'

Let's not forget what this bastard did before we become part of the rewritten history of Saddam The Martyr.

To all you 'Peace Nazis', You know who you are..... Grow up!

None More Pure.....

There is a term that my Grandmother used to use that has really stuck with me, and the older I have got the more I have come to understand it.
“There are none more pure than the purified”.

I first understood it when friends started to give up smoking cigarettes. Those people who used to spark up, close their eyes with almost orgasmic pleasure as the nicotine hit their system and say, ‘Oooh, Yes, that’s perfect’. Or words to that effect.
When they give up, all of a sudden you are the personification of evil. They then get all ‘evangelical’ about it. Tell you about the patches and the gum and how much better they feel. Graphically describe what the ‘poison’ is doing to you.
Well, fucking good for you. Count me out!

Then there are those who give up illegal drugs, especially the ’hard’ ones.
Now, they are different. I have nothing but admiration for those people and the horrors they go through. They can bask in their purification.

There is now a new group of ‘body Nazis’. You read about them in the paper, see them on those shit day time talk shows and you’ve probably met a few.
Those who have gone whining to their doctor about excessive hand washing, butterflies in their stomachs when they have to leave the house, or an inability to get on with what the rest of us call ‘Life’. Who, at some point got themselves to believe that because the doctor gave them the stuff it must be good. These people, when the drugs are withdrawn go into total melt down and would have you believe they are having the full on Ewan MacGregor experience from Trainspotting.
Are they bollocks!
A bit of insomnia is usual and maybe Delhi Belly which lasts for 2 weeks, tops.
(Remember, one of the Housemates is a Pharmacist. This may come as a shock, but they know more than the doctors about how medications work on the system.)

Seeing as these people feel it quite acceptable to inflict their point of view on me, for example, I drink so I’m obviously an alcoholic. I smoke dope, so I’m a drug addicted junkie who would burgle your house as soon as look at you. I’m Gay so I obviously want to fuck everything with a pulse and if you believe the Christian Right, that’d be your children.
I think it’s fine for me to air my views.
Get a FUCKING grip!
Take responsibility for yourselves, stop blaming your parents for everything that has gone wrong in your fucked up life and perhaps consider it might just be something to do with you!
You are living it, not them.
Tablets won’t change it, in most cases they do very little, fuck all at all OR make you worse.
Whinging about it won’t change it. Finding G-d won’t change it. Going to ‘meetings’ won’t change it.
If you feel the overwhelming need to ‘blame’ someone, look in the mirror.

Imagine having to be trained that when someone smiles they are not baring their teeth at you, and it’s a friendly gesture.
That when your hand is shaken and a person says,
‘Pleased to meet you’, it’s just a phrase, most times they don’t actually mean it. How frustrating it is when people don’t do what they say or arrive at an arranged time. 9ish, 10ish, means fuck all to me.
That it is really distressing if an item that has always been kept in a certain place is suddenly moved.
Not only remembering books but the page numbers of certain bits. (handy for footnotes in Uni essays!)
Imagine being constantly tested and told your IQ is extremely high, then being treated like a retard because your ‘Social Skills’ are slightly lacking. Put in classes with Window Lickers and kids who can’t spell their name or put their shoes on the right feet.
Forcibly drugged because no one knows what is ’wrong’ or what to do with you and G-d forbid you are ‘yourself’.
Frustration is interpreted as violence.
That stating the obvious is perceived as rudeness or a subliminal request for a beating.
Forcing yourself to look someone in the eye, otherwise you are thought of as shifty and dishonest.

I’ll stop before I fuck up my Chi! But I will leave you with a quote..

“A lunatic is also a man society does not wish to listen to, and whom it is determined to prevent from uttering unbearable truths”.
Antonin Artaud.

Limbs And Kitchens

One of the Housemates works for the NHS in the patient transport side of things. Apparently she got a phone call from some bloke who left his false leg on one of the buses.
Which led us to ponder, how do you forget that?
The standing and falling flat on your face would kind of jog your memory, wouldn’t it?
This led us to wonder if he had gone to get a new leg and like us, as kids getting new shoes, wanted to wear it home!
I must ask Mad Matt what his Dad’s preference is when he goes for a new hand.

An advert that is pissing me off…
Some twat stands in a kitchen holding a piece of equipment that apparently sums up them and their kitchen needs. According to the propaganda, from this item, a company can design the perfect kitchen for you.
An uptight looking woman holds up a nutmeg grater or something. From that they can tell she wants stainless steel throughout and a hot plate.
I think she needs a damn good fucking on the butcher’s block, but that’s just my opinion.
Right, I thought, I’ll have some of this.
I want to turn up at the sales room with our huge bag of assorted Take Away menus, 7 tea towels, 5 half used blocks of lard and say,
“Knock yourself out with that, you fucker!”
I’d be interested to see what they came up with.
Something that looks like the bastard child of Burger King and Ken’s Kebabs I should think!

For Christmas, one of the Housemates got a brilliant notebook about procrastination, so I will share some of the ‘Time Wasters’ with you lot.
Here is today’s.

Lesser Known Prequels:

--------------- Over The River Kwai
--------------- Impossible
--------------- And The Sundance Kid
--------------- Of The Third Kind

Have fun!


RIP Sister Annunciata. One of those rare, truly holy Nuns.

Surf, Mirth And Neurotics

Every now and then, usually during an insomnia bout, I head to Wikipedia to learn something I didn’t know before.
I don’t have a specific subject or idea in mind. I just follow links.
It might be a word I’ve heard on TV or something I read in one of the papers.
Today I surfed into a page on Feminism. Did you know there are 16 subtypes of Feminism? 16! For fuck’s sake! BUT, get this, there is one called Cyborg Feminism! Now there was a link I had to follow.
These are the first few lines that greeted me:

“Cyborg Feminism is a sub-movement of feminism that uses the notion of a cyborg, a machine-organism hybrid, to explore feminism. It is often used as a metaphor for female identity and feminist thought or as a thought experiment (eg. To investigate what happens to gender in a dehumanizing body)”….

What the fuck!?
Maybe it is my lack of sleep, sporadic pain and Diazepam but I was seriously expecting to see a picture of Seven of Nine!
Would I be alone in expecting that?
When I did my degree I took the Gender and Sexuality option. It was that or the French Revolution, we all know about my ‘Franco-hatred’, so that was an easy choice.
I learnt about Ruskin’s pubic hair phobia, Aphra Behn, Camille Paglia and Monique Wittig. I could barely get my head around Postmodern Feminism.
Cyborg feminism? Not a fecking whisper.

From there I followed the link for Human Sexuality, ideal for a good chuckle. The pictures are ‘Arty’ and from ancient texts, The Karma Sutra or something Japanese. Where the ‘Golden Rule’ didn’t apply when it came to depicting male genitalia.
Average sized man, but a dick that looks like a baby’s arm holding an orange.
Mmm.. Drawn by a man methinks.
Female artists appear not to feel the need to whack enormous tits on their women subjects. Or labia like a Bassett Hound’s ears. Well, not that I have seen, but maybe I’m not going to the right galleries! (I must look in to that!)

Surfing on from there I found myself reading up on Personality Disorders.
It’s quite amazing how many different ways a person can be fucked up!
In fact, they are arranged into clusters.
I’ve had diagnoses of a myriad of disorders in my time, but I don’t think about it anymore.
No point trying to work out what or who made you like you are. You just 'Are'.
The main point is trying to understand how you impact on others and work at adjusting that.
I embrace my fucked up-ness, in fact I positively enjoy it! There's no other way.

2007

Happy New Year!

Just a minor rant to start with.
If you don’t know the words to Auld Lang Syne, don’t fucking sing it. Simple as that. It stops you looking a twat and cuts down my urge to punch you in your miming mouth.
Also, why on New Years Eve do some blokes think that it’s perfectly acceptable to kiss you right on the lips? Should be ok for me to knee them straight in the bollocks then?.
The other thing that gets on my tits, and this isn’t just a New Year thing, are couples who turn up with just one bottle between them. Sure as shit you are going to drink more than 2 glasses of wine each! One bottle of spirit is acceptable. A bottle of wine that was on the 3 for a tenner offer isn’t. Or the people who turn up with shitty wine and then spend the night drinking your vodka. Tight bastards!

My back is still the enemy and Diazepam my bestest friend in the whole wide world.
Moving around is hellish.
I have to kind of slide out of my chair onto my knees.
Then crawl across the floor to the fireplace, where I pull myself upright using the mantle.
I then stand for 3 minutes doing my impression of an eighty year old with osteoporosis.
When I do manage to walk it looks like I’ve had a ‘Code Brown’ in my underwear!
An attractive look to start the New Year with.
The upside is it can’t get any worse.
Although, I do worry that the medication will run out before the pain does. If that happens, NHS Direct better beware!

I have had a real treat this evening. I used to watch a programme called ‘This Life’. It was about a bunch of 20 something Lawyers living in a house together. I loved it.
Tonight, they aired a one off episode about their lives 10 years on.
Brilliant!.
Cheered me right up.

Executions And Expletives

It’s done then.
Saddam is dead and I have to admit to having a bad feeling about this.

Don’t get me wrong, the man was an absolute horror of a human being. He deserved to be tried for crimes against humanity and to be tried under Iraqi law.
Brutal laws that he played a part in formulating. Laws, that Amnesty and other humanitarian groups having been telling us for years, aren’t even on nodding terms with fairness and justice.
So fucking what?
Tell that to the thousands that he had executed. The 148 men and boys executed for no reason in Dujail. The 100 000 Kurds gassed to death. The unidentifiable remains of 400 000 people, found to date, in over 200 mass graves. 2 million since he came to power.
His trial was a 100 times fairer than theirs.
Those laws were perfectly fine when he was in power, why not now?
It has been argued that he should have been made to live and suffer. How do you do that? Prisoners have rights, lots and lots of rights. He wouldn’t have shut up and his supporters would have had a focus.
Schnee tells me that he said he ‘hated being incarcerated’. Maybe that was reverse psychology! Trying to save his worthless neck. He also wanted to be shot and not hanged like a criminal.

I admit I spent my long, sleepless night watching CNN waiting for footage of his execution.
I’m only human!
When I did see it I was surprised at the calm way he appeared to accept his fate. I know he has managed to convince himself that he is dying as a martyr and that in Islam martyrs go straight to paradise. Still, I have a bad feeling.

Now for a rant.
I hurt my back yesterday. Really bad. I have a dodgy back and I can usually self medicate back to health. Not this time, I have gone into a wicked spasm. Not the pleasant kind.
It got so bad today the emergency doctor was called. It took her 4 and a half hours to call back. Which irked me a bit and did nothing for my already foul mood. She asked all the wanky questions that doctors ask, “Does it hurt?”, “How did you do it?”, “What kind of pain is it?”
Well, the hurting sort of pain!
Not being into BDSM seriously limits my pain adjectives you fucking moron.
FUCK OFF AND GIVE ME DRUGS!!!
Then she asked if I could make it to the Drayton Surgery to which I answered,
“Lady, I can’t make it to the fucking toilet! I can‘t walk.”
“Ok, Ok”, she ponderously replied.
“How about St Mary’s walk in centre?”
I lost it a this point and screamed down the phone,
“Are you taking the fucking piss? A fucking WALK IN centre?”
She saw the error of her ways and agreed to fax my ‘script to the Pharmacy. A Housemate has been dispatched for the lovely Diazepam.
To top off a shitty day, my beloved Spurs lost.

Reparations

Another era has come to an end. Housemate Mikey left yesterday for his new life in Leeds. He is at the University to do his Msc in Geology with a view to doing his PhD.
Good luck, you have worked hard for this. Now, get out there and make us all proud!

Today Britain pays back the last instalment of the loan taken out during the War. £43 million to the Septics and £12 million to the Canadians.
At last!
Now perhaps the Yanks will stop going on about how they ‘helped us out’ and basically won the War.
Tossers.
Maybe we can start saying ‘No’ to them. Pull our troops out of ‘their’ war and sit back and watch The Fall Of The American Empire.
That will give me great pleasure.
As I have said before, most of them have absolutely no idea of how much they are hated throughout Europe as well as the Arab world.
A nation that managed to elect the village idiot to the Presidency and still expects to be taken seriously.
They worry about Iran having nuclear weapons, I worry about them having ANY kind of weapon with that prick in charge.

The ‘No Shit?’ award goes to Mr Brian Witcombe a consultant radiologist at The Gloucestershire Royal Hospital.
According to him, sword swallowers are prone to sore throats.
You think?!
I wonder how long it took for him to come up with that.
This was actually published in a medical journal. No doubt he got some sort of funding for that fucking gem.
The NHS is haemorrhaging cash left, right and centre and this genius spends time coming up with that.
Brilliant.

Apparently, Saddam is going to be executed tomorrow while other Muslims take part in the Hajj. I’m going to be keeping my fingers crossed, hoping that it all doesn’t kick off because if it does, we’re fucked my friends.

Hanging Out....

The last two days I have been catching up on my film watching.
I’ve watched The X-Men, The Da Vinci Code and Pierrepoint.
I was under whelmed by The X Men and mildly entertained by The Da Vinci Code.

The last was an absolute blinder and ironically appropriate with the situation with Saddam Hussain.
What a Gentleman and a gentle man Albert Pierrepoint seemed to be.
He approached his job with such humanity it choked me up at points to watch it.
When he was hanging the Nazi War criminals I wanted them to be begging for their lives, snotting and crying.
I suppose that was the ‘revenge’ element coming out in me.
But as he said, “They’ve paid their debt. Now they are innocent”.
When he had to hang his friend, I think it was one of the most touching scenes I have ever watched.

I’m sure they will have people queuing up to do Saddam. I just hope, for all our souls, they have someone like Albert Pierrepoint.
Someone who will approach it with dignity and see another human being stood before him, no matter how distasteful his crimes. Then afterwards, respectfully, deal with the body of a man who has paid his debt. Someone strong enough to carry the burden of what that job does to a spirit, on behalf of us all.

In 1974 he said,
“I have come to the conclusion that executions solve nothing, and are only an antiquated relic of a primitive desire for revenge; which takes the easy way and hands over the responsibility for revenge to other people…. The trouble with the death penalty has always been that nobody wanted it for everybody, but everybody differed about who should get off…”

This man executed over 600 people in his time. He should know. Wouldn’t hurt to listen.
I will be adding Albert Pierrepoint to my list of heroes and praying that his soul rests in peace.

As many of you are aware, it doesn’t take an awful lot to piss me right off.
Today, it is the calendar.
At the beginning of the year I sit down with the calendar and transfer all the important information from the old one. Birthdays, anniversaries, holidays etc. I cross the days off as we work our way through the year.
Now, one of the Housemates has decided that they are going to do it. This means I don’t get a chance to look at it and miss birthdays.
More to the point, it’s my fucking calendar! Get your own! Tosser.

Christmas Carnage

In the words of Ferdinand the Duck from ‘Babe’,

“Christmas? Christmas means dinner, dinner means death! Death means carnage; Christmas means carnage!”

I got six hours of sleep Christmas Eve, that’s almost a coma for me!
My Christmas day started with a cup of tea and the news that two entirely different legends have died.
Charlie ‘ello my darlin’s’ Drake and James Brown.
If you follow my Nan’s thinking, there will be another one. According to her, deaths always come in 3’s.
The first film of the day was The Chronicles of Narnia which has the absolutely cracking line,
‘We are not heroes. We’re from Finchley’!

I peeled sprouts, boring but very necessary. It is a law that sprouts are consumed on Christmas Day. I peeled potatoes and cooked the starter. Scallops with tangerines and it went down a treat! Which was handy, seeing I made it up as I went along. Main meal was stuffed leg of lamb.
Half way through the meal I started thinking about clothes.
What is the point of putting on your best clothes just to eat like a pig and get pissed?.
Surely, you want baggy comfy clothes for such an endeavour.
Anyway.
I drank Macon Village, Puilley Fuisse, Sancerre, Port and Brandy. Ate cheese with blue bits in it. Laughed to the point of tears, got choked up, Had weird and wonderful conversations, sang The Wild Rover at the top of my lungs and danced! Oh Yes! There was dancing.
Later on, there was vomiting. Not mine, thankfully!

So, to end with another ‘Babe’ quote,

“That’ll do pig, that’ll do.”

Christmas Eve

The usual Christmas bollocks is on the TV. Although , I have to admit to enjoying ’Turner and Hooch’ this afternoon. 100 Greatest Inspirational Movies is the one I’m screaming at as I write this.
Forrest Gump, The Wizard of Fucking Oz! The Sound of Music, inspirational? Fucks sake.
I Am agreeing with some though.

Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner.
Seabiscuit
Field Of Dreams
Spartacas
Shawshank Redemption
One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest.

I lost interest very quickly. I’m sure there were many much better than that, but I could cope with it no longer.
It did make me think though, I’ve never been able to re-watch Schindler’s List. It’s one of the very few films that I have seen at the cinema.
I never go. I can’t sit still long enough or stop myself from shouting out.

Who has had the Christmas card with the ’Seasonal Newsletter’ in it? Fuck off… I couldn’t give a shit. Their lives always sounds so much more interesting than mine.
’We spent our holiday in Bali’, ‘Tarquin is going to Cambridge’, and ’We bought a castle’.
If they just mentioned ONE nice thing they had done for someone else, I’d read it.
That never happens.
It’s all about ‘Conspicuous Consumption’ and Wealth.
What really burns is that I’m related to or know people who think that’s important.
Even worse, they imagine that it’s important to me.

Just a question…. Who told you there was no Santa?

Looking Back

Things I have done, noticed, discovered, re-discovered or learned about myself during 2006.
This may look like a 'cop out' post but it took a lot of thinking about.

There is no easy way to carry a mattress.
My cats will puke anywhere.
Some of our neighbours are scummy.
Vancouver is 8 hours behind us.
Tomato plants are fucked by ‘blackspot‘. (Don’t compost them either)
One of the Housemates cooks a really shit Roast Dinner.
I don’t need dope everyday. I want it, but don’t need it!
Boston Legal is fucking genius.
Just because I keep my word, it doesn’t mean others do.
My hair really does need cutting every 5 weeks.
People don’t feel your hate. So why bother.
Wine makes me fat.
I need new socks.
I can draw quite well.
My house ‘phone rings a lot, 1 in 10 leave a message.
I started a blog.
I haven’t read enough this year.
I can’t cope with people with Alzheimer’s Disease.
Yale locks don’t last forever.
I quite like growing herbs in the garden. (Real herbs!)
£199 is apparently cheap for a sewing machine. (Mmmmm)
A Moscow Mule is Vodka and Ginger Beer.
I’m just shy of 4000 songs on my ipod.
I remember more French than I thought I did. (A worry!)
Not everyone can make a good cup of tea.
I learned the names of different kinds of Muslim veil.
People don’t expect soldiers to die during a war.
Most people are as fucked up as you first suspected.
I really dislike Jose Mourinho.
I’ve had my slippers 10 years.
I got a new bike.
I lost my glasses and need to replace them. (See Below)
Must remember not to smoke a joint before I go to the Optician.
Energy efficient light bulbs are expensive and take ages to get bright.
Nag Champa is still the best incense.
The Composter is working a treat.
I put some of my photos on flickr.
I should eat seafood more often.
Got hooked on ‘Lost’.
Learned how to use the Nespresso machine.
Picking up dog shit still makes me gag.
I don’t like chicken on the bone, it’s too labour intensive.
I love the programme, Jam and Jerusalem.
You can never have too many food storage containers.
I don’t like my mobile phone.
There is something very sexy about black stockings. *Blush*
I did the grocery shopping online.
I held a baby. (Jessica Shillingford)
I wouldn’t mind if someone punched Bruce Forsyth.
‘Chasing Cars’ by Snow Patrol is a brilliant song.
Aira Force is a fucking long walk for very little.
I ate Venison.
Shoes last me a long time.

I'm sure there is much that I have forgotten, but as we know, that is the nature of my existence.

Moving And Shaking (with anger)

Yesterday I helped Crisp-e and ‘Chelle move in to their new home. It took me 2 hours in front of a blazing fire to get warm again. It was as cold as the hair on a Polar Bear’s arse out there and really foggy too. The kind of fog that when you breathe out the vapour just hangs around your head.
Misty the Magical feline didn’t take to well to the move and spent the day under the kitchen cabinets.
I met ‘Chelle’s mum and got to spend the day trying not to swear!
I only slipped a few times and that was as I was taking chunks of flesh out of my knuckles, so I think those ‘Fucks!’ don‘t really count.
As moves go, it was a sweet as a nut. I got a gorgeous bottle of Chablis for my humping efforts, which went down a treat.

The shitty world has touched my mellow Wiltshire hideaway. Yesterday a woman was found stabbed to death in her home. From the sparse online news reports it appears that her husband did it. She leaves 3 primary school aged kids behind.
The ‘festive season’ seems to be when most of the domestic violence and murders happen.
My Dad beat ATM. She says he only did it once and she left him immediately. He broke her jaw, blackened both her eyes and ripped handfuls of her hair out. I don’t often have good things to say about ATM but I really admire her for leaving him. She was 18 and had two children under the age of three and in the early 70’s you were supposed to just get on with it. Luckily, her parents were prepared to have us all live with them.
My Dad’s Dad was a beater too. He abused my Gran for 50 years and even beat her as she lay dying in the hospice.
It took my Dad years to admit to me that he had done it but when he did, all he could go on about was how my Pampam turned up and battered him. Like he was the wronged party.

Again, it has gone dry. Not a bit of greenery to be had anywhere.
Most annoyingly, people whom I have gone out of my way to help in the past, are suddenly not answering texts or reply that they have only enough for themselves.
Well, fuck every single one of you. You will not even get the time of day from me now. If I can cut my family dead I’ll have no problem with any of you.
Except Looby, you are a goddess!

Revenge Is Sweet

Today I have been trying to list my top 5 Revenge films. Not as easy as I first thought.
The hideous hangover I had all day didn’t help the thinking process.
Pounding, pounding, pounding…. I wasn’t sick and I am so thankful for that small mercy.
Anyway, this is what I came up with and in no particular order:

The Count of Monte Cristo
Kill Bill (counting both films as a ‘whole’)
Leon (absolutely brilliant film)
Gladiator
Sleepers

That, my friends, was a monumental effort and I’m sure that there are loads I’ve overlooked. So have a go, see what you can come up with.

Right, now for a bit of a rant.
If you can’t pronounce ‘specifically’ or ‘statistically’, Then I suggest not fucking using them; and for fuck’s sake don’t use them when you are interviewed on TV. It makes you look like a complete prick in front of thousands of people.
More importantly, it annoys the arse off me.

Panto. I fucking HATE pantomimes. Even as a kid I hated them and would feign illness to get out of going. It just seemed so fake to me, even then.
Fat, ugly men dressed as ugly women. Shit jokes. Jokes so unbelievably terrible they make me want to punch people. The appalling celebrity Z listers, thigh slapping and ‘it’s behind you’. Grrrrr.
I’m getting wound up just thinking about it.
I felt much the same when I was forced to go and see The Pirates Of Penzance. Panto by another name and as equally mind numbingly boring.

An Absence

I don’t know whether it’s the time of year or what, but I think I am missing my sister.

We haven’t spoken for three years. She and her boyfriend stole £5000 from me. I paid him ‘up front’ to do some building work and he never completed it. Barely got started in fact. I stopped speaking to ATM at the same time because she seemed to have absolutely no problem with what they had done to me. Even though ATM’s own brother, who completed the work, told her I’d been ripped off.
My sister is 13 months younger than me and for a long time people mistook us for twins. In a way we were. We were so close.
We had the shared experience of a Step Father who abused us and a Mother who insisted she didn’t know. I took beatings for her, one that involved fractured ribs and a broken nose. I used to listen out for my Step Father going in to her room at night and stand at my door staring at him. That way he would leave her alone BUT would come in to me instead.
I did used to laugh with her though. Really, really laugh. We could crack each other up with a look, knowing that the other one would know exactly what was funny without a word being said.

But, I have been told, our relationship was odd.
ATM set up a kind of rivalry between us, whereby we would grass each other up and drop each other in the shit just to curry favour with her. Somehow trying to make her love or prefer you over the other one. I seemed to grow out of this but my sister never did.

When she was pregnant with her third child she became seriously ill with Crohns disease, which went undiagnosed for 2 years.
I used to go to her house everyday and look after her and the 2 kids. ATM would turn up and tell her to pull herself together, that she had two other children to look after and that her house was a shithole.
I cooked for her, cleaned for her, bought her shopping (my money), paid her mortgage (my money) and intimidated her doctor until she had the correct diagnosis.
She underwent three lots of surgery and at 24 was given a permanent colostomy.
That changed her. She became very bitter and angry. Her personality changed, she became selfish and aggressive.
To tell the truth, I didn’t like who she had become very much.

I’m still not sure if I miss her, but I feel the absence of her.

Cruel And Unusual

Today I have managed to wind myself up over something I don't really agree with. The death penalty.
The Independent newspaper reported the story of a convicted killer put to death earlier this week. Apparently the lethal injection missed his vein and it took 34 minutes for him to die.
So what?
A judge called off the execution of a rapist and murderer because of concerns that "the condemned inmate might suffer an excruciating death".
Again, so what?
Why should they have 'easy' deaths? Did the individuals these people raped and murdered drift off into an easy unconsciousness before dying?
I think not.

On a lighter note, I would like to revisit the issue of the Bishop of Southwick.
I am sure every single one of us has come up with an excuse for our hangover, Bad pint, dirty pipes, food poisoning etc.
Well, get this, the Bishop's spokespeople have come up with one for the reason he was pissed in the first place...
He had a mini stroke! Yeah, Right!
From now on I will not be announcing, "I'm going out on the piss". I will be saying, "Right, I'm off out for a mild brain accident, anyone coming?".

This cracked me up.
A woman called Louise Clark suffered a brain disorder that made her think she was French.
Worse than that, Parisian!
Now, this has got to be one of the quotes of the year.

"It might sound funny to others, but suddenly thinking you are French is terrifying."

Terrifying? Too right Louise, too right!

Holiday Optimism

Sundown today is the first day of Hannukah (Festival of Lights) which celebrates two events. The rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem and The Miracle of the Oil.
A small Jewish army beat the Greek Syrians who had banned Judaism and desecrated the Temple.
There was only enough oil to keep the eternal flame going for one day but it burned for eight. Long enough for more oil to be prepared. So there are eight days to the holiday.
This is when the Menorah is used. (The big candlestick.) A candle is lit each night. The right side is lit on the first night, the left on the second and so on.
Food at this time involves a lot of olive oil, stuff that is deep fried and all sorts of doughnuts!
Hannukah Gelt (money) was given out to kids but nowadays that has changed in to chocolate money and presents so that kids have a kind of ‘Christmas’ gift.
It’s a cool holiday!

While on the subject of cool.
Dr Katherine Zappone and Dr Ann Louise Gilligan were told by the Irish High Court that their marriage would not be recognised in Ireland. They married in Vancouver in 2003 and wanted it recognised for tax purposes and the like.
At the end of the case Dr Zappone thanked the judge and said,

“Ann Louise and I love each other. We have requested that the human right to marry is extended to us. We are the only kind of human beings in Ireland whose right to marry the person they choose to love is not acknowledged, not protected and not respected.
We believe that Ireland will be a land of justice and equality for all human beings… We believe that the Irish Constitution does protect and promote our rights - as it does all others.”

She didn’t freak out and start shouting and bawling. She just stated the facts of the case.
They are discriminated against.
What makes her cool, in my eyes, is her optimism that things WILL change. I pray for that kind of optimism.
Absolutely spot on. Good luck ladies.

Yesterday Crisp-e got stopped by one of the new Community Police Officers for, get this, speeding on his push bike!
He was on a main road and was screamed at to stop. He was then informed there is a law about riding dangerously in a built up area.
Fuck off!
They want to have a look at the bitter and twisted people in the Mong-Mobiles, who drive along the pavement forcing pedestrians into the road just because they have working legs or aren’t too fat to walk.
The ones who have fucking number plates on the back should have their disability benefit to stopped until they get a life.

The Loneliness Of A Long Distance Insomniac

Being an insomniac is a lonely existence. You only get to interact with people for a short space of time. Then they go to bed.
Rubbing your nose in their ability to sleep.
Some will even give you examples of epic slumbers they have had in the arms of Morpheus.
“Yes, the tree came straight through the window and I slept through it!”
Or they come out with the line that makes me want to break their nose,
“I NEVER have trouble sleeping. Head hits the pillow and I’m gone”
I am sure there is someone in the ‘great beyond’ telling someone else,
“Yeah, I was on the Titanic. Slept right fucking through it, me. Didn‘t even hear the band”
Well, fucking bully for you. Twat! How is that helping me?
This afternoon I was so tired my eye sockets ached and I felt sick.

The other day I made a comment about ‘Extreme Makeover’.
Well, I need to revisit it.
I was waiting for CSI and watched an episode. I want to know how many of the newly ‘made over’ have blown their partners out afterwards? Especially when they realise they can do so much better now.
Come on people lets not be shy about this.
The partners of these people are fucking monsters too. They need to do people as a couple otherwise there are going to be tears.
In this one a guy had lost 200lbs in a year. He had loads and loads of baggy skin just hanging around waiting for a burger and pizza relapse.
When they took him back to his loved ones we got a squint at the wife. She was fucking enormous. Another half inch in any direction and she would have been perfectly round. Verucca Salt style.
It was obvious to me that future fornication for these people was going to be a logistical nightmare. Not that I’m a great expert on the practicalities of Heterosexual intercourse!

HOW do you people DO it? There you go..
I’m sure that’s not the second or third question most of you are asked when you introduce your partner to people.
Turning you into an unwitting ambassador for your lifestyle choice.
Strangely, it’s usually some married, middle class, middle aged woman who asks. Especially when they’ve got a few drinks on them. Most will tell you of a ‘crush’ they had in school and that they have thought about ‘it’ a few times. Eeeesh!
Welcome to my world.

Fragmented

I’m feeling fractious.
Four hours sleep in the last 48. I’ve run out of things to read, I’ve cleaned the house to within an inch of it’s life and I’m bored with porn, such as it is.

Fucking adverts of children singing ’Christmassy’ tunes together are doing me in… Fuck off.. It’s unnatural. Stepford children.
Makes me shudder in fact.
Sounds like that don’t come out of normal children, they don’t look like that and they definitely don’t speak Latin!
Not in Pompey anyway.

I still bear the scars of Sister Ruth Mary beating Latin verb conjugation in to me and one wonderful memory of punching Sister Bernadette spark out! There ended my Catholic school days.
I was expelled and had to go to the local comprehensive.
I’m not saying all Nuns are wicked, spiteful bastards. I have met a few whom I consider truly holy and a Novice who was truly horny! Sister J, you know who you are and what you let me do to you.
My eternal thanks and prayers are yours! You set me on a path and I’ve never looked back, no closet, no apologies, no regrets.

Also, clips of the Christmas films have been advertised SO many times I don’t want to watch any of them now. Which is a real piss off as there were a couple I was looking forward to seeing.
Equally, there is some complete and utter shit on as well. Footloose? Fucking Footloose?! How is that a Christmas film?
What films would you like to see Christmas Day?
I think my morning film would be Yankee Doodle Dandy. Drinking Bucks Fizz, eating Bagels and Lox, watching Cagney dance, there is no better start to the day.
I’d probably go for something long for the afternoon, Once Upon A Time In America or The Godfather Trilogy.
For the evening I want something that will make me laugh ‘til I hurt.
Topped off by Withnail and I. Of course.

BBC News 24 informed me, sometime in the early hours, that obesity is now a bigger killer than cigarettes in Britain.
But does the government bring in a law banning the Clinically Obese from eating in public?
No.
Does it bring in a law banning them from anywhere that serves food?
No.
Is food advertising banned?
No.
Does it put a crippling tax on burgers? Make a Big Mac £6?
No.
Then let me smoke in a fucking pub then!
I’m not making anyone fat, in fact I’m doing the Salad Dodgers a favour, freely suppressing their gargantuan appetites with my second hand smoke.
I’m providing a service.

Bashing The Bishop

I am loving this. One day last week the Bishop of Southwick phoned the police and complained he had been mugged. It was reported on the news and seemed quite serious. I must admit I pissed myself laughing when the very serious radio 4 reporter said,
‘the Bishop’s head was so swollen he couldn’t wear his Mitre’. Classic!
It turns out he wasn’t mugged but absolutely pissed. A couple had found him in the back seat of their Mercedes flinging out all of their kid’s toys. When asked his name he said,
‘I’m the Bishop of Southwick. It’s what I do’.
All the stuff he thought had been stolen was left in the back of the car.

One of the papers tells us he had been to the Irish Embassy for some sort of party.
Ahhhh.. That explains it!
EVERYBODY knows if you spend more than an hour with the Irish you will be pissed or at least well on your way!
I think I know what happened.
Embassy staff saw the Dog Collar and just kept the booze coming.
In my experience, Catholic clergy can drink. And I mean DRINK.
One of the Housemates has an uncle who is a Priest, he can put away a bottle of Whiskey in a sitting and still say Mass.
Protestant clergy aren’t so hardy! What does the occasional sherry prepare them for? Nothing. Especially not the Irish!

Now everybody is calling for him to make a statement. What would absolutely make it for me, is if he stood up and said the words at least 90% of us have uttered,

“I went out with some Irish mates and they got me fucking wankered! I don’t know how I got home, I’ve left my fucking mobile somewhere, lost my glasses and I’m covered in bruises!. Excellent night!!”

Fortunately for us, what we did in that state comes back to us gradually over a few days. This poor bastard gets it splashed across all the headlines!
Where’s the crime? He got pissed. He wasn’t curb crawling (unless you count him falling over in the gutter) he wasn’t chasing choir boys or worrying sheep.
Think about the most embarrassing thing you have done whilst drunk….. Got it? Right, would you want it in the paper?

Give the guy a break.

Trouble, Bubble, Toil And Leak

The delightful Augusto Pinochet is dead. In the process, avoiding punishment for his human rights abuses. Who the fuck is going to go to his funeral and still hold their heads up?
Thatcher I suppose, but she’s a bit ‘Daggers’ now.
She claims he’s ok because Chile helped us out in The Falklands. Amazingly, during the late 70’s, Chile was on the brink of war with Argentina over the ownership of some Islands off the coast of South America. Funny coincidence that.
He also got rid of the minimum wage, Trade Union rights, disappeared/murdered the people who disagreed with him and privatised fucking everything. The real cheek is that he wants to be cremated so that his grave is not desecrated by ’people who always hated him’.
Does he mean the families of those people he murdered and have no known grave?.
What a guy! Fuck him, he’s no loss to humanity.
Fidel Castro isn’t looking long for this world either.

Last night the weather was brutal. Gale force winds and driving rain. If people had bins out they are now in a collective heap at the end of the road and beyond. The lids will never be found.
I came down this morning to discover we have a serious leak in the downstairs toilet. It is something to do with the window frame, so the man from Everest will get some shit. The cats didn’t seem to mind it at all, evidenced by their wet, muddy footprints all over the kitchen. Brilliant. We can all afford that just before Christmas. The likelihood that I will find a builder before the 25th is slim in the extreme. So it appears the jug to catch the drip will be there far into the New Year.

Another thing that pisses me off about this time of year is Cliff fucking Richard. ‘Christian Crooner’ the media calls him. I think he is evil. Totally fucking evil. As they say, the Devil’s greatest triumph is that he makes us believe he doesn’t exist. He does and his name is Cliff. Do not buy this man’s music and definitely don’t listen to any of his crap. He is evil.

This evening I have had Bubble and Squeak for dinner. Yummy. Another reminder of childhood. We always had it on Mondays and Boxing Day. It is such a comfort food and a good way to use up all the leftovers from the roast dinner. I also have a chicken carcass which will be transformed into Jewish Penicillin tomorrow, in anticipation of the nasty winter bugs that are about.

From Marple To The Ridiculous...

My most favourite thing about Sunday mornings is watching Miss Marple played by Joan Hickson. This morning it was ‘The Mirror Crack’d’. This was the last one in which Hickson played the part. She was 86 years old. The last line said by her is, “More tea, Vicar”.
Brilliant!
She is absolutely the definitive Jane Marple for me.
Margaret Rutherford played her with too much humour. Although, as Madame Arcarte she was perfect.
Angela Lansbury had a go and was totally crap. Helen Hayes was too cute and Geraldine McEwan just wasn’t her.
Another Agatha Christie character I love is Hercule Poirot but I adore Peter Ustinov’s portrayal him. My friend Ingrid, insists that David Suchet is the definitive Poirot and I’m inclined to agree. Christie herself didn’t think Ustinov was right for the part. I have a thing for logical minds!

(Schnee, engage sports filter.)
The other great thing about Sunday, is the afternoon football match. Although, today two of the clubs I hate the most were playing. Arsenal and Chelsea. (Disengage)
At this point, I have to admit to tucking in to one of the bottles I bought yesterday. There was never much hope for them anyway and I could be dead in the morning. I’d get really bitter and twisted if some other fucker were drinking my wine.
I must remember not to brush my teeth just before drinking wine. Not only does the wine taste shitty, the toothpaste tastes bad as well. No happy medium.

It’s like that, ‘eat parsley if you have garlic breath’ one. You end up with lots of green bits in your teeth. I’d definitely go with the garlic breath for a first impression over green teeth.
It might do it for Popeye, huge turn off for me.
I do like nice teeth though. I find them extremely sexy. My first ‘tooth’ based crush was on the dark one from Abba. Mmmm… Yummy.. Shame her Dad was a Nazi officer. I didn’t know that when I was eight, so I think she still counts.

Yeah! Zara Phillips is BBC Sports Personality Of The Year! Go Girl!

Booze And Boos

This morning I was rudely awoken by the postman, who for some reason couldn’t be arsed to use the letterbox.
I staggered out of bed and dragged on some trousers and patted my big hair down. I opened the door and stared at him with the one eye I could open. He looked at me as if I had just got HIM out of bed and more or less threw my post at me. All done without a word or a smile.
Fuck you too.

This is the time of year when everybody who delivers to, or takes stuff away from your house starts ringing the doorbell to wish you a ‘Merry Christmas‘.
This is bollocks. They want money.
And if you don’t pay up?
For the next year your dustmen will leave a fair proportion of your rubbish scattered around the forecourt. Your Green Bin will be 3 millimetres too far from the gate, will have a huge red warning sticker attached and won’t get emptied for a fortnight.
Your daily newspaper will look like it’s been through a shredder rather than just the letterbox. Or you will get the top paper of the bundle left in the rain. If it turns up at all.
Got to be worth a fiver for an easy life. But I fucking resent having to do it.

At last! Tony Blair has said what everybody (including those who believe they are a liberal) has been thinking for a long time.
“Conform, or don’t come”.
Fair enough. What’s wrong with saying that?
I can’t go to Saudi and walk along the street swigging from a bottle of Vodka.
I can’t walk through certain areas of Jerusalem in shorts and a tee shirt. There are buildings I can’t go in at all, no matter how I am dressed, because I am a woman.
I can’t trundle around the Vatican in a crop top and cut-offs. Or snog a woman beneath the ceiling of The Sistine Chapel.
If I want to go to these places I have to conform or fuck off.
What’s the problem?

Sassy and I have been out and about with our Threshers vouchers. I got six really nice bottles of white wine for £25. Pouilly Fume, Sancerre, Chablis, Macon etc. Not bad! The trick will be staying away from them until Christmas. In all honesty, I can’t see it happening.
I have some ‘deferred gratification’ issues with certain things.

To the twat in the BMW in St Ronan’s Road. Don’t fucking bib your horn at me, when you are performing an illegal manoeuvre, I WILL ignore you. Tosser.
The same to anyone who tries to get my attention by whistling.. I am not your fucking dog!.

Freaks And Freebies

For some reason David Gest is on every conceivable TV show and he didn‘t even win ‘I‘m Celeb….’. He is quite possibly the strangest looking man I have ever seen.
Is that the result of plastic surgery? If so, what the fuck did he look like before?!!
Most people undertake plastic surgery with the hope that SOMETHING will look better. I’ve seen ‘Extreme Makeover’, nobody has ever gone on and said, ‘make me look like a balding, half-choked Pug dog, please’.

ATM always wanted to ‘have her eyes done’, whatever the hell that meant. There is no operation that could have made them less evil. That was what she planned to do with her inheritance once she had paid off debt. As far as I know, she got a new bathroom and my Step-Dad got his eyes lasered.
I’d probably have my nose done. Nothing changed, just put back. It’s been broken three times and looks a fucking mess. I can’t remember what it used to look like anymore and I’m always too stoned to recognise myself in photos.

One photo from my childhood really sticks in my mind.
It’s me, stood in the garden. I’m wearing a pair of blue/green cord trousers and a tee shirt. My fists are jammed into my pockets and I don’t look at all happy. In my hair are fucking ribbons! Ribbons, and my hair is in bunches. It’s obvious I’m furious.
I can’t remember the photo being taken, but when I look at the picture I remember the ‘feeling’, exactly.
I hated it. Hated the hair. Hated being made to pose for the photo. Hated it! (Thank G-d for nits!)
The photo was dated, I was three at the time.

Tomorrow, I’m off to spend my 40% off voucher from Threshers. The one that was meant for a select few, and everybody in the country has got! Bless Thresher, they are going to honour them.
Can’t help but think it is all a scam to stop us from going to France and stocking up. 40% off just gives us the booze at Euro prices. This way I only have to bimble up to Albert Road and not have to remember ‘please may I…’ and ‘Thank You’ in another language.

The Elements

Today a tornado tore through Kensal Rise in London and I pray to all that’s Holy, that the houses ripped apart were those with all the fucking Christmas lights and blow up Santas!
The weather is foul. It’s blowing a hoolie and pissing down with rain. Roads in Pompey have been flooded and what gets me, is that people are surprised. Why?
The drains are full of leaves and fucking rubbish, water doesn’t dissolve these. The ground has been as dry as a bone for months, remember the drought? Water doesn’t soak in as well.

Alexander Litvenenko and Polonium 210. I know this sounds cruel and heartless, but I really couldn’t give a flying fuck! Had anyone heard of him before all this?
I hadn’t.
If he was one of Mr Putin’s strongest critics shouldn’t we have heard of him? Ex KGB agent granted British citizenship, how did the media miss that one I wonder?
Britney flashing her gash, that we get for days on end.
Potentially dangerous spies and radioactive elements, not a fucking whiff.
Three aircraft were found to have traces, thank G-d for all that increased security on flights, eh?. No fucking eyebrow tweezers or face cream but radioactive poison, no problem. What Bollocks!
Polonium was the first element discovered because of it’s radioactivity by Marie Curie. We know what a picture of health she ended up.
Livenenko was buried in a lead lined coffin because this shit has a half life of 103 years. I thought we were in the business of shipping OUT radioactive waste.

Barry Manilow’s ‘new’ (60’s covers) album is being advertised to death at the moment. Please check out the picture and tell me if he looks like Julian Clary. Something really weird has happened to his face. It looks wrong somehow, too symmetrical and too smooth. Not that he was overly blessed with fantastic looks to begin with.
Pete Docherty, another ugly bastard, didn’t go to prison YET AGAIN!
But the pensioner who was growing Cannabis for herself and a group of other arthritic old dears gets 6 months. There is also an on-going case against a husband and wife team. They were growing it, putting it in chocolate and flogging it to MS sufferers. They claim they made no profit which I find hard to believe, but at least they were trying to help people.
Docherty deserves prison. He is scum.

Love And Hate

Today is my baby brother’s birthday. He is 19.
19 years ago I limped to St Mary’s hospital for my first look at him.
I limped because a few days previously I had been in a motorbike crash and had 40 stitches in my knee.
He was very ruddy, his eyes were swollen shut and he had loads and loads of jet black hair. I loved him instantly. I’d always wanted a brother, someone to play football with, build tree houses and cheer on my beloved Spurs.
He was 17 years too late but I had a brother!
As he grew up I realised he wasn’t going to be that sort of brother. I have to admit I thought he was a spoiled little brat who just sat indoors, playing computer games and getting his own way all the time.
He has grown up in to one of my favourite people. He is intelligent, honourable, quick witted and we share a sense of humour.
He loves music and plays the guitar brilliantly.
I introduced him to ‘Withnail and I‘, which he shared with his mates. I bought him ‘The Diceman’ to read and like me, he loved it. He introduced me to Rodrigo Y Gabriella and Nine Inch Nails.
He is 6’ 4”, has hair down to his shoulders and goatee beard. I call him ‘my big little brother’ and I adore him.

I am SO fed up with Christmas adverts, Christmas music and TV programmes telling me how to cook a fucking turkey. They are boring the shit out of me and winding me up at the same time.
Also, this seems to be the time of year they advertise all the cough ’n’ cold remedies, all the charities and CD‘s compilations from dead people. Fucking Lockets, battered children, starving animals and Johnny Cash. Piss off.
You can piss off with decorations too. Houses with fucking lights that can be seen from space? I pray for electrical fires!. Tossers. Carbon Footprint suspended for the Festive fucking Season is it?
I fucking HATE Christmas, just in case you were in any doubt.
Give it three weeks and all the ad’s will be Summer holidays galore, tampax and fucking Easter eggs.

Housemates… What is the point of leaving 14 fucking Pasta shells in the packet? It is NOT a single portion for fuck’s sake, it’s pointless! So is the half a teaspoon of milk left in the bottom of the carton. Especially if there is another 4 pints in the fridge.
Drink it, pour it away. Nothing can be done with it.

.... Sting Like A Bee

Today, I rose at 5am and by 6am was in a car, with strangers, heading to Lambeth. They turned out to be really lovely guys and were very supportive of me during the day.

I have done circuit training, pad work and a lot of boxing, with gloves that smelled like the last person had had them on their feet. Not an entirely pleasant experience. I have sparred with champions and potential champions. I have perspired like a pig and at one point was close to vomiting.

My body is now a study in pain. My shoulders and arms are sore, my knees are on fire, my lower back throbs and even my hair aches.
But, in a weird way it feels great, like I have achieved something today.
And I have.

I am now a Qualified ABA Boxing Tutor.
I’m celebrating with a Radox bath, 600mg Ibruprofen, 30mg Dihydrocodeine and a glass of wine.
That should sort me out.

Sorry it’s short today, but I’m sure you will all understand.
Thank you, one and all, for your words of encouragement.

Float Like A Butterfly...

Tomorrow I’m off to London on a course to become an ABA Boxing Tutor.
I’m looking forward to the course but am really nervous about being the only female there. My friend Q, who is the Combined Services boxing coach and National coach for Dominica, has arranged it all for me. I will be travelling with a couple of his Navy guys, whom I don’t know. So all in all, I’m shitting a brick!
I’m not good in new situations or with new people but I don’t want to let Q down.
At the end of the course I will be able to go into Junior schools around the city and deliver the programme in after school clubs.
It’ll be fun to be back working with kids but I’m not too sure how I am with the younger ones. I will have to wait and see with that one.


Housemates.. I did say a while back that I would address the issue of the toilet.
Well, here we go.
Upon lifting the lid, I have been surprised by a ‘foreign’ jobbie twice this week.
If you manage to ‘lay a floater’, you stay with it until the cistern re-fills and you flush again. This process may need to be repeated. Several times.
If this doesn’t work. You are going to have to fill a bowl with water, flush and pour at the same time. The extra volume and weight of water may just help.
Failing that, you are going to have to break it’s back.
I don’t care how you achieve this, a stick or a hand, just get rid of it.
The same goes for those ‘melted’ ones at the bottom of the pan.
For those of you achieving ‘splash back’, guess where it goes?
YES! The underside of the seat!
There are cleaning products for the toilet. They are cunningly situated right… fucking… next… to… it! As is the bog brush.

I also see, we still haven’t learnt that a tea towel over a chicken carcass, doesn’t render it invisible to a cat. Ho Hum..

Six Degrees....

My cousin, Markus, popped in this morning. I have only really known him for 18 months or so. His Dad (my Uncle) wasn’t allowed to be in his life when he was growing up.
We have so much in common. Our reactions to things, sense of humour, our strong depressive streak, our bouts of introspection.
We sit, we drink tea and we talk.
He tells me about his difficulties in not having his Dad around while growing up (Which I can relate to) and I tell him about his Dad. When he reveals something about himself he doesn’t understand I chuckle and say,
“You get that from us!”
He smiles and says,
“Really?!”
We can do this for hours. When he leaves he says,
“Thanks for making me belong”.

Today we spoke about names.
Because of how his maternal Grandparents felt towards his Father, they changed his name to James. He explained that by doing that the made him into a non-person. If he was praised it didn’t matter because it wasn’t his name, wasn’t him. The same when he was bollocked.
This made me think about how important a ‘name’ is. To be called something. To belong. ATM changed my surname and I really didn‘t like it, but that just removes you from the ‘group’ of people to which you belong. Taking away your first name seems really brutal to me. Your name must be one of the first sounds you learn to recognise. How you place and define yourself in the world.

On a lighter note….

We are going to play a little game I have named, ‘Six Degrees Of Separatist‘.
Click on the ‘Next blog’ button at the top of the page and help me with an experiment.
You have got to click on the next six blogs then I want you to let me know how many clicks it took before you hit a Christian/Fundy/Happy Clappy site. In fact, any kind of ‘religious site‘. Or a picture of a car.
I bet it doesn’t take long.
Fly my pretties! Fly!

Why in films or on TV shows, is an axe always needed to open malfunctioning lift doors?. I have seen this in 3 different shows today and it’s putting me right off using them.. Lifts that is, NO problem with an axe!

Munching and Gagging

I am considering starting up a business.
Dial-O-Munch.

Had a surprise delivery of greenery last night. It has been so long I was totally wrecked. The guy who brought it round isn’t my usual supplier. He had a guitar shaped bag with him and said,
‘Do you want to look at my bass?’.
I immediately presumed this was some ‘hip’ euphemism for something and exclaimed,
“Certainly NOT!“. He looked totally confused and tentatively pointed to the guitar shaped bag.
He has long blond, curly hair which he held out from the side of his head and told me how his brother was going to get him some ‘straightners‘. With the very next breath he said,
“People think I’m Camp”. Total ‘Stream of Consciousness’ shit!
I replied,
“Really?” I had my straightest face on.
Irony and sarcasm flew over his head, without ruffling his soon to be straight hair.

By 1.11am, I’d run out of fags and had a yen for a box of chocolate fingers. That’s when Dial-O-Munch came to me. How nice would it be, to be able to phone or text a number and those items would be delivered to your door? Pints of milk, some rizlas and a toilet roll would be handy too.
My Grandfather used to use the local taxi service to bring him bottles of Scotch. My Aunt had him on rations!
When you went to visit him, he gave you bags of empties to take away with you. So she wouldn’t find them.

Housemates.. Whoever sneezed in the shower and ‘lost’ the result. (It better be a fucking ’sneeze’ or there WILL be violence!)
Never fear, I fucking found it, you dirty bastard.
Getting rid of it made me retch.
This obviously unbalanced me slightly and I had that other ablutions worry I hate. That is the momentary panic halfway through cleaning my teeth, when I think,
“This ISN’T my toothbrush!”
So, my gag reflex has been totally overworked. Thankfully it WAS my toothbrush.
Also, did everyone have toast this morning? Or have Hansel and fucking Gretel wandered through the kitchen during the night?

Lazy Sunday

Yesterday, was a day of total and utter excess and I’m feeling a little delicate. Started drinking at 11.30am and didn’t stop until 3am. I’m feeling like someone has kicked seven shades of shit out of me but no headache. I am grateful for that small mercy.

It didn’t start too brilliantly. The gene that people have which allows them to wrap up presents is totally missing from my double helix. Even stuff that is square always manages to look like a blind person with Parkinson’s has been at it with garden shears. So, a job in Threshers or the Chippie is out for me. Then there is sellotape. An item you can only find when you are NOT looking for it. If Sassy hadn’t saved me, the presents would have been secured with gaffer tape and blue tack. Not attractive but practical!

The little ‘Princess’ opened her present, looked at the first one and said, ‘Don’t like that’. The second one, ‘Don’t like that’, but the box of make up was ‘Ok’. While I’m thinking about it, I don’t recall her saying ‘Thank You’ at any point. Maybe it’s just me but I would have been battered sideways for that kind of behaviour.
There were also moments of pure comedy! Ricky and Colin arrived and Ricky proceeded to complain about the flood of refugees that seem to have washed up in Portsmouth. ‘This fucking government are ruining this country, and don’t get me started on the fucking Muslims’.. Without realising it, he was sounding like a party political broadcast of behalf of the BNP.
Made all the funnier as Ricky is an British born Indian Sikh!

Schnee and the ’Girls’ came round and we laughed and drank, drank laughed. I couldn’t for the life of me tell you what we talked about but I’m convinced the world is a better place today because of it. Tom Cruise was the victim of most of our venom, with only Crisp-e to fight his corner.

Sunday afternoons are so boring. For some reason it is still in my head that it’s homework day. The day when the adults slept all afternoon and you just had to sit there waiting for something to happen. TV only had 3 channels and everything that was on was shit, (Songs Of Praise, Eeeesh!) and you weren’t allowed out on your own.
I am now allowed out on my own, but it’s probably best if I don’t.